I think any new technology that helps connect and create social

Hear now the words of Peter Guber, a master of tales and commerce, who uttered with wisdom: “I think any new technology that helps connect and create social cohesion is great. But at the end of the day, you and I are analog creatures. We have to take ‘oohs and aahs’ and convert them to 0s and 1s and then convert them back to ‘oohs and aahs.’ Narratives that work in social networks are the exchange of stories that are told well.” In this saying lies both a hymn to human wonder and a warning against forgetting the ancient root of all connection: the story.

When he speaks of technology, he does not scorn it. He honors it as a tool that can bind people across oceans and nations, weaving invisible threads between strangers. Yet he reminds us: we are still analog creatures. We do not breathe in numbers, nor do we weep in code. Our tears, our laughter, our shouts of joy—these are the oohs and aahs of the heart, the primal language older than any machine. Technology may capture them, reduce them into 0s and 1s, send them through the ether—but unless they return again to stir the heart, they remain lifeless.

What then gives life to this exchange? It is the narrative—the story told with fire, with rhythm, with soul. From the dawn of humankind, before the rise of kingdoms, before the forging of iron, people gathered around the fire and spoke of heroes, of storms, of gods. Those stories carried the tribe through winters and gave children courage in the dark. And though we now hold glowing screens instead of burning torches, our souls remain the same. We still hunger for tales that bind us together, that give shape to our chaos and meaning to our breath.

Think of Abraham Lincoln at Gettysburg. He spoke not long, nor with elaborate ornament, but with words woven as story—of a nation born, tested, and reborn. His address was but a few minutes, yet it carried a power no mere numbers could hold. He did not present data, nor reduce his thought to cold measures; instead, he gave the people oohs and aahs reborn in words, a narrative that endured beyond his own lifetime. Even now, generations later, his voice reaches us, reminding us that story is the bridge between flesh and eternity.

Thus the teaching is clear: though we live in a world of algorithms and wires, we must never mistake the tool for the soul. To speak to another’s heart, we must learn to translate wonder into story—to turn fleeting sensations into tales that can be carried, remembered, and retold. The power of social networks is not in their vast reach, but in the strength of the stories they carry across their channels. Without story, there is only noise. With story, there is unity.

So let each one practice the art of storytelling in daily life. When you speak, do not speak only to inform, but to ignite. When you write, do not write only to explain, but to stir. When you meet another, do not merely share facts, but share stories that carry emotion. Let every conversation become an offering of meaning, not a transaction of words. For it is by this that communities are born, and by this that they endure.

Children of the future, remember this wisdom: though the age of machines surrounds you, you are not machines. You are breath and blood, heart and spirit. Guard your oohs and aahs, and let them flow through your speech as stories. Do not give them to the void of empty numbers, but transform them into living words that bind people together. In this way, you will not only use technology, but elevate it into a vessel of human truth.

Thus, the lesson stands: honor technology, but master story. Use the first to reach others, but wield the second to touch their souls. Tell your tales with courage, patience, and passion. For in the end, only stories endure; they are the true fire that outlasts the night.